Why do so many of us revel in ruining the endings to our favourite shows and movies? Nathan Bevan was a spoiler fan... but then he got hooked on Fargo

A former work colleague of mine, whenever anyone talked about the latest film releases near him, would stick his fingers in his ears and hum loudly until they’d left the room.

An extreme reaction perhaps, but one that’s indicative of the near pathological aversion some people have towards spoilers.

Indeed you’ve only got to go online to see the vitriolic reaction that’s heaped upon the poor schlub who inadvertently gives the game away as to how some new celluloid blockbuster or long-running cult series pans out – honestly, it’s vicious.

There are those, however, who take great delight in ruin the ending for others, even in the rather more refined - or so you’d think – literary world.

Take, for example, the guy who, in 2005, drove past the long queue of Harry Potter fans who’d patiently lined up all day outside a Denver book store to get their hands on a copy of The Half Blood Prince, only to roll down his the window down and gleefully yell, “Snape kills Dumbledore.”

But, by and large, the sanctity of the spoiler alert in pop culture is up held vigorously, with those that flagrantly violate its ruling being vilified on a par with serial killers or Third World dictators.

Not me though –you see, I rather like spoilers.

In fact, I have to resist with every sinew in my body the urge to seek out the scoop on what happens at the end whenever I go to the cinema, turn on a TV or even pick up a book.

Not entirely sure why, but I can tell you that I can’t think of single spoiler I’ve read that’s ruined my subsequent enjoyment of whatever it was I was watching.

The way I see it is if something is good enough (well written, acted and plotted) then it should transcend that tricksy element of surprise.

And I’ll go one further – if anything it’s knowing where a story is headed which can only heighten one’s appreciation of the journey it took to get us there.

Even the great Alfred Hitchcock himself once admitted that there was a big difference between shock and suspense, and that often it’s knowing what’s coming which helps ratchet up the tension factor for the viewer.

Heck, look at Columbo - arguably the greatest of all the on screen detectives - each episode of which revealed the identity of the murderer and the details of how they did the ghastly deed within the first 10 minutes of broadcast.

Yet that still didn’t stop the rapt millions at home continuing to watch for the remaining 90 minutes, week in week out, for several decades hence.

Similarly, me knowing that – sigh, SPOILER ALERT – Walter White dies at the end of Breaking Bad’s final season doesn’t mean my five series box set sitting at home won’t be hungrily devoured at some point like a warm peshwari naan on rugby club curry night.

But then Fargo came into my life and, somehow, things are different now.

For nine weeks I’ve been tuning in and not once have I googled to see if I could get a heads up on what might unfold the following week.

And, with the outcome of the finale already having been aired Stateside, I’ve spent the last week using the internet only in cases of extreme necessity, lest I accidentally stumble across some errant sentence or photo (Billy Bob Thornton lying dead in the blood-soaked snow, say) and burst my own balloon.

I’m like digital equivalent of James Bolam and Rodney Bewes in The Likely Lads, resorting to hiding out at the hairdressers because it’s the one place they won’t learn the latest football scores before Match of The Day airs in the evening.

Why I’m suddenly like this though, I couldn’t say.

Maybe it’s because I love the show to such a degree I truly don’t want it to finish – and every titbit I find out before hand can only hasten that unwelcome inevitability.

But everything has to end at some point, the only uncertainty being whether or not I’ll revert back to my old ways once it is finally over.

However, I suppose I’ll soon find out given that the transmission date for the potentially spoilerific new series of Doctor Who is drawing ever closer.

By the way, did I ever tell you what I’d read about who’s supposed to be playing The Master opposite Peter Capaldi’s 12th Time Lord?

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